Horde (Razorland #3)(91)

“I’ve seen that proven false, time and again. Salvation did nothing to provoke the monsters, just went about their business. Same with Appleton, so far as I know.”

“I believe you. I just hope it doesn’t take a tragedy here to motivate them.”

“Why don’t you overrule them?”

“Because when my father died, he left me only provisional power.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“‘Colonel’ used to be an earned title, but I inherited the role from my father. Since I was younger than anyone expected, due to the bleeding fever, when I took over from him, there were conditions set on my administration of the armed forces.” Likely she could tell I didn’t understand, so she clarified, “My authority is subject to checks and balances from my advisors.”

“So they can gainsay you. That’s too bad.”

With a few more polite words, I let her get back to meeting with the scouts. In that moment, I felt a bit sorry for her. It would be awful to be in charge, but not really, with people second-guessing every move. She had information and resources at her fingertips but she didn’t have the freedom to use any of it as she deemed fit, at least, not without arguments and endless voting. Sometimes disasters required quick, decisive action.

We stayed in Soldier’s Pond more than two days. It took longer for Edmund to outfit all the men, and Momma Oaks convinced the quartermaster to let her have multiple bolts of unused cloth; so while Edmund made boots, she was madly stitching uniforms. In that time, the colonel procured cornmeal, dry beans, and Morrow dug up a recipe for hardtack, which consisted of flour and water, baked multiple times until the ingredients were like small bricks.

“What’re we supposed to do with this?” I asked, when the storyteller brought me to the mess to show me what the cooks had created.

At this hour, the room was empty apart from the harried workers, who had been experimenting with the recipe for hours, and us. Morrow frowned, likely at my lack of imagination. “If you crumble them, they thicken a stew. Crushed and mixed with milk or egg, they become pancakes. Or we can eat them like this if there’s nothing else. They last forever.”

With each soldier carrying his allotment of beans, cornmeal, dried meat, and hardtack, we should do well for the rest of the campaign, at least until the cold set in. Soon there would be tubers and fruit on the trees, more berries and wild greens. My concern was the scarcity of game with the horde hunting in our territory, but we couldn’t stop fighting for fear of hunger.

“You think we’ll run across cows and chickens in the field?” I teased. “That seems likely. I bet we’ll have pancakes in the skillet every morning.”

“You’re cruel to a man who spent hours paging through dusty old books for you.”

I raised a brow. “For me? Or Tegan?”

It was no secret, the way he looked at her when she was helping the men. I’d also observed how he sought her out during quiet moments and that he seemed to enjoy their training sessions a whole lot, maybe because he got to be close to her. I didn’t think Tegan had noticed how he felt, but I had gotten better at paying attention to such details, after the misunderstanding with Stalker. My heart hurt when I remembered him, but the alternative was forgetting, and that was the final kind of death—when nobody told your story anymore.

“I’d like her to eat more,” he admitted. “She’s too skinny. So are you.”

“That accounts for everyone in Company D.”

With a small, sly smile, Morrow offered, “Well, I’m more concerned about the eating habits of some than others.”

“Me too. Thanks for your effort on this.” I turned to the cooks. “The colonel wants you to bake five hundred more of these.”

They grumbled, but it was a measure of my status that they just went back to work. Morrow seemed impressed as we left the mess together, but I didn’t let him run off. I wasn’t done with this conversation yet.

“You’ve had access to all kinds of books,” I said. “More than we’ve seen in any town or village we’ve visited. Gotham was the only place I ever saw that had so many. A lot of them were ruined, but plenty more could still be read. Have you been there?”

I knew Morrow was a wanderer—that he wasn’t from Soldier’s Pond—but he had been oddly reticent about his past. He sighed as he shook his head and started walking. I had no idea where he was going, but I didn’t mean for him to leave me behind, so I quickened my pace. We ended up in the cowshed we’d used for training. There was nobody there, just the animals, so at least it was private.

“No. I’m from the west … a village called Rosemere.”

I’d seen it on Longshot’s maps, but I couldn’t place it. Though it was listed, it wasn’t on the trade routes he’d drawn. “Where’s that, exactly?”

“On the Evergreen Isle.”

That was why he hadn’t traveled there. Longshot only covered land routes, and you had to cross the water to get to Rosemere. “You don’t talk about it much. Was it bad there?”

“No,” Morrow said softly. “It was heaven.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“The usual story. I loved a girl who didn’t feel the same, so I vowed to see the world and make her sorry I left.”